


The Plan.

by unoriginalwriter



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginalwriter/pseuds/unoriginalwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's new and he's aware of pretty little things with pink cheeks and smart-ass attitudes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plan.

**Author's Note:**

> this is so fast moving and i wrote this some time in the summer and it was supposed to be something for a book but i decided to make it for a03 instead. enjoy, or don't, everyone has different preferences.

He notices she's new because there's something different about her. Her hair is long and almost blonde, though more a light brown and it hangs to the small of her back in a straight vein that looks so soft and silky and he imagines what it would be like to touch it, to run his fingers through it. And it's not a desire or in a weird way, her hair just looks smooth and he really wants to know what it feels like. She's different because she doesn't get involved in any of the classes he shares with her, and there are only two. She keeps to herself, that he also notices, and she never volunteers any comments or thoughts and this reminds him of himself. When she gets called on, she looks up or pretends she doesn't hear her name, smooth and soft sounding and it's the name of a flower. When she answers a question her voice is soft and reluctant but she usually gets the answer right, then goes back to her own little world that isn't anywhere close to where she is. This, also reminds him of himself.

They share Chemistry and Gym, but he rarely sees her in Gym, when he decides to go himself. He starts going just because he knows they share this class, and more often than not, she's not there. When he skips, he regrets it, because what if she chooses to go the day he doesn't? So he decides to not skip this class anymore. It's a dull class, running around and throwing balls and it's his least favorite thing. When it's over, he changes out of the required clothes and back into his own, gathering his books and taking off to Chemistry in a haste. She's there, only she's sitting next to his empty seat and he doesn't understand why until he moves from the spot he stopped at near the door and he glances at the board, indulging in the new seating list in white chalk. He goes to his seat, silently sitting next to her and when he's settled he can smell her musky scent that reminds him of violets and lavender. It's new and inviting and he leans forward a little, his arm on his desk brushing hers and she jerks her arm away like his touch offended her. She doesn't look at him, and because of her odd reaction to him, he doesn't look at her again- until he can't no longer. The class starts and he spends most of it watching her, his head straight but his eyes right. They end up being paired together for a project and she lets out a little sigh, like it's the last thing she wants.

"Sooo, I guess we should get started," she says after everyone has already and she turns a little to him, then looks up. She swallows a little, her eyes lingering but the look on her face quickly vanishes and he thinks this is the first time she's noticed him. He doesn't really like that, because he noticed her the first day, and every day since then. This is the first time she's noticed him.

"Yeah, okay." He says, and they start their project. It's a stupid thing about attraction and they end up finishing before everyone else, even though they started last. They end up away from each other again, not speaking and there's only a few minutes left of this class. He sighs, closing his eyes.

"Something wrong?" And the voice belongs to her. His eyes open and he looks down at her. She's looking up at him, her face blank. He's a little surprised, honestly. She never talks to anyone.

"Why would there be?"

"People don't normally just sigh like that for no reason."

"Like that?"

"Like you'd rather die than be sitting here." There's a small smile on her lips now, and her arms are crossed over her chest.

"Actually, I would." And she lets out a little laugh.

"Me too." And they go back to sitting in silence because she turns back forward. He feels a little off, like he can't be the one to speak to her first unless she initiates it. But... she did, didn't she?

"It's Violet, right?" But then the bell rings and she's sprinting to her feet. He watches her go, forgetting her books on her desk. He shifts them up with his and goes after her, stopping her in the hall.

"Hey, you forgot-" She turns around.

"Oh." She says, seeing her books in his hands.

"Your books." He mumbles.

She walks toward him, tilting her eyes up a little because he's a whole foot taller than her.

"Thanks," she says, about to retrieve her books from his pile when he subtly edges them away.

"Um, do you... would you want a coffee?" he suggests whimsically, subconsciously brushing a hand behind his neck and scratching at something that doesn't itch, or does, but it feels like the itch is somewhere inside of him, somewhere he will try desperately to reach but can't. That's when she tilts her head, her blonde brows knitting together and the faintest of smiles approaches her lips. He clears his throat.

"I can buy you a coffee?" And it's a question, not a statement. Her brows straighten and her smile becomes less faint and more apparent.

"Okay, sure. But I'm buying my own coffee." She adds in, and with a smile she turns to leave before him and even still he reaches for the door to hold and push it open more for her, but she's already out the door and he thinks his gesture is too late and goes unnoticed. She's walking in front of him and he has to use faster steps to get by her side, and he's not really sure why he's chasing after her. He keeps his head up but glances down at her at his side, a gap of space between his head and her shoulder a prominent range to their height difference. It's quiet for the most part during the walk, and when he starts to see the coffee shop in the distance, he decides to spark up some type of conversation that he wants to focus around her. He barely knows her yet he's following her around and he really thinks he needs to know more before he can even consider why he's so drawn to this girl. He looks down at her again, this time his head tilting a little for a better look, and he goes with the first thing he thinks of.

"Is that your natural color?" He asks, and she looks up at him almost startled. "Huh?" Her eyebrows do that knitting thing again.

"Your hair. Is it..." he brushes some hair out of his eyes because fuuuck, why did he think asking about her hair was a good thing?

"Oh. Yeah. I've never dyed it." She says. And there's that faint smile again. He nods, and for some weird, oblivious reason to him, he lifts a hand and gathers a few end prices between his fingers, the texture of her hair is not at all surprisingly silky and smooth. She looks up at him with her eyes, big and wide and he snatches his hand away, punching it into his pocket. He can feel and almost hear the awkward. It's when she turns back forward that he notices they're outside of the coffee shop and she's reaching for the door when he realizes he asked her one question. There's a low sound that comes from his throat, like a grunt or a sigh but she's already walking inside, the cold air a welcome distraction against his skin. She goes to walk straight for the stand but he reaches for her wrist, stopping her before she can walk too far.

"I've got it. What do you like?" He asks. She blinks up at him, then brushes a stray hair behind her ear.

"Um, just a regular, iced. Creamer, no sugar." He smiles down at her, like he expected this order form her, and he nods, finally removing his fingers from her wrist that he let linger for a little too long. She looks a little breathless, a little baffled, and he wants to think it's because of the touch of his skin on hers but he can't be too sure.

"Pick a spot. I'll find you," and it's a promise. He walks off to place their order and finds her near the back moments later, legs crossed, arms folded on her lap. She looks a little out of sorts, kind of like she does when she's in class sitting next to him. "Iced, creamer and no sugar." He slides it onto the table and pushes it toward her, slipping into the empty booth across from her.

"Thanks." She reaches for the cup, her fingers feeling the drops of wetness that slipped down the side, and then she snaps her head up, her eyes wide in that way she does."Oh, I forgot about the money." She's removing her hands now, digging into her pockets and her bag. Tate reaches across the table, placing his hand on hers to stop her further movements.

"It's fine. I wanted to," he offers, but this time there's no smile. He thinks she might accept it better if he's less anxious and more serious. She looks up at him, her lips parted, but then she nods, relaxing a little back into her seat.

"So, Violet. Like the flower." She laughs, her eyes rolling a little.

"I haven't heard that one before." She snickers, reaching and taking a sip from her cup. He can't help it- he grins back at her.

"Do you like violets?" He asks, shifting in his seat.

She shrugs, indifferent. "I prefer hydrangeas, I think. But they're hard to find."

"You like flowers?"

"Why? Because my name is violet, I have to like flowers?" She shoots her eyebrows together again, and Tate goes a little stiff, his brows raising. "I mean..." she's embarrassed, her cheeks coloring her usually pallid skin and he realizes he wants to see this pink color on her more often. There's a variety of different ways that run through his mind that he wants to make her blush in. "Yeah, I like flowers." She mumbles, taking another sip from her cup to hide the reddening of her skin.

"I like violets." He says, and he isn't talking about the flower and she knows it because her cheeks grow hotter.

"Oh," she breathes, her eyes darting down to the table between them. He feels a tug at the corner of his mouth because he knows he's got her, broken through her virile barrier just a little. She needs someone stronger than her, more tough, and he definitely can be that. She's not use to it, he can tell by the color in her cheeks and the way she can't look at him now.

"So, California. What brought you here?" He asks, because she doesn't look like the California type.

"Um, fucked up parents." She laughs, a little giggle floating past her lips and his chest actually flutters. He likes this feeling- he likes it a lot.

"Cheating dad, depressed mom. They thought moving would-" her voice goes higher- "be a new start." She rolls her eyes, twisting her cup around and around on the table. Tate's head rises a little in interest.

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" she asks, her innocent eyes big and wide and brown.

"What do you think?" He think's she looks shocked because nobody ever asked her that, what she thought, because nobody ever has. He knows how it is. How it's always about other people and their needs and desires, and never his own or anyone elses. He knows and he's used to it.

"Uh, I don't know. I think it's bullshit, honestly. Moving isn't going to be a new start. It's just another opportunity for something more fucked up to happen."

"If you love someone, you should never hurt them." Tate says, eyeing her closely.

"Right? I know." She shakes her head, straightening in her seat. They look at each other for a while, too smiling faces, and then she looks down at the table. "But whatever. I'm here and I guess..." She looks back up at him, a small smile gracing her lips. "It's not that bad."


End file.
